


we arrive at the precipice (i will carry you through)

by capaldi



Category: Lost Girl, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capaldi/pseuds/capaldi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe this is what Clarke meant. <i>Maybe someday<i>. Maybe it’s now, when she no longer owes anything more to her people.</i></i></p><p>Or, the AU where Tamsin takes Lexa's soul to Valhalla.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we arrive at the precipice (i will carry you through)

**Author's Note:**

> this is more of a companion piece to the au lexa & tamsin gifsets i made. i say that because this is a lot heavier.

 

Lexa doesn’t fear death. She simply doesn’t have the time. Not when she has a duty to protect her people. Titus taught her well. The weight of her obligations will naturally crush any vestiges of fear.

But in her last moments, she struggles with the rising fear. Struggles not to let Clarke see it in her face. She makes Titus swear never to hurt Clarke, and promises her that everything will be okay.

Life is about more than just surviving, but in that moment, Lexa wanted nothing more than to live.

 

 

 

She wakes in an elevator. Not really wakes, she’s not sure, because she doesn’t remember passing out or falling asleep. One minute she’s gasping for her last breath, trying to memorize every last detail of Clarke’s face, and the next, she’s prying herself off a cold floor.

“Nice to see you’re awake.”

It’s an unfamiliar voice, accompanied by an equally unfamiliar face.

“Where am I,” Lexa croaks and rubs her neck. The faint sensation of choking on blood still lingered.

“Death. The dead place. Heaven. Whatever the hell you want to call it,” the woman replies.

Lexa pulls herself up as the other woman makes no effort to help her. They’re going up to the 125th floor, she notices.

“Who are you?” Lexa inquires.

“The person who hauled your dead ass into this elevator.”

Lexa narrows her eyes at the other occupant. Clearly, civil conversation was out of the question with her. The woman pulls out a scrap of paper and rips off the top half before stuffing the rest into her pocket.

The elevator stops before Lexa can attempt another question and the doors slide open.

“Reception’s right around the corner. They’ll take care of you.” The woman tells her and zips out the door, not bothering to wait for a response.

The walls are sleek, of a material she doesn’t quite recognize. There are few accommodations, just a long stretch of white that she can’t pinpoint the end to. She’s not even sure if she’s heading in the right direction until she comes across a sign.

Valhalla, it reads.

 

 

 

Reception wasn’t much of an upgrade from her initial welcome. They send her to a waiting room with a brochure, and a monotonous rehearsed speech about basic rules and regulations before rushing off.

Lexa stares at the large panels of glass surrounding one part of the room. The glass was opaque. There was no way to even get a sense of where she was. There was nothing to do but wait.

On the ground, Lexa was always occupied with something. Meetings, negotiations, duties. Now she’s sitting here with nothing but time.

Clarke had once told her to find a hobby. Lexa remembers shooting her down, telling her that duty comes first, and everything else is secondary.

Lexa smiles when she recalls the way Clarke had rolled her eyes at her.

There’s a knock at the door. “Enter,” Lexa replies on reflex.

The door slams open with a force that surprises her. It’s another unfamiliar face, belonging to a man wearing a rather vicious expression.

“Finally,” He growls, heading towards her. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

Her hand reaches around her waist before she realizes she’s not carrying. She scans the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. There was nothing.

The man has a knife in his right hand as he lunges towards her. “Blood must have blood,” he cries out.

Lexa inches back, scrambling until her back hits the glass panels. There was only one escape and he was blocking it. Under normal circumstances she could easily disarm him, but her body still felt heavy and lethargic, as if she was still half dying on the bed.

Well, it’s not like she can die twice right, she thinks right as the man raises his arm, readying for a strike.

It never comes. Instead, he drops his knife and crumples to the ground.

“God I hate babysitting.”

It’s the same woman from earlier. She’s standing in the doorway, placing the just fired gun back into her holster. Lexa hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Well don’t just stand there,” she demands.

“Is he dead?” Lexa asks.

“C’mon,” she motions at Lexa. “Unless you want to spend the rest of your day with his fat ass.”

Lexa complies, mostly because her mind was still doing backflips trying to wrap her head around what the hell was going on. She’s been dead a few hours at most, and there’s already been a threat on her life.

Lexa takes one last look at the unconscious lump on the floor.

“He’s fine. He’ll just be out for a couple hours,” the woman reassures her. “Let’s just get out of here before he wakes up.”

Lexa nods, and turns to leave. “What is your name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman shrugs.

“It does to me,” Lexa insists. “You saved my life, it matters.”

“You were already dead,” the woman points out, but sighs when she sees the persistent look on Lexa’s face. “Tamsin.”

Lexa nods and holds out a hand. “I’m Lexa.”

Tamsin looks blankly at the outstretched hand and then at her. “I know.”

She starts walking and Lexa follows.

 

 

 

Tamsin fills her in on the way. She explains that you can’t die here. Not again at least. Valhalla was death itself, and any sort of mortal injury simply results in a few hours of unconsciousness at best.

She also explains that time moves differently here. There’s no linear trajectory as there is in the world of the living. And basic needs like food and water and even air aren’t required as they no longer possess corporeal bodies in the real world.

It was useful information, but Lexa had a more urgent matter on her mind.

“Why was I attacked?”

Tamsin stops in her tracks and Lexa nearly bumps into her from the sudden halt in momentum. “You don’t know?”

“Should I?” Lexa asks cautiously.

“You don’t recognize his face then,” Tamsin comments.

“No, I don’t.”

She looks at Lexa, almost hesitant as to what to say next. Lexa’s not quite sure if she gave the wrong answer or asked the wrong question.

“How many have you killed,” Tamsin finally asks.

The question throws her off kilter. But the tone of Tamsin’s voice had no judgement or malice attached. It was simply a question.

One she answers honestly. “I....don’t know.”

Tamsin pulls out what appears to be an electronic device. A cell phone, Lexa remembers Clarke showing her. The battery was dead, Clarke had explained, but Lexa still remembers the enthusiasm in her voice when she explained the different functions. She misses it.

“2469,” Tamsin says, cutting through Lexa’s train of thought.

“What?”

“2469,” she repeats, holding the device for Lexa to see. “That’s how many you’ve killed.”

Two thousand four hundred and sixty nine. It’s weird having an exact number laid out in front of her. A precise calculation of the kind of imprint she left behind. She’s not sure if it’s more or less than she expected. It never occurred to her to keep track. How many she had killed, how many she would kill. None of it mattered, because the reason was always the same.

Everything she did, she did to protect her people.

“Although most of them were by proxy, which probably explains why you don’t recognize their faces,” Tamsin continues, scrolling down the device. “Either way, it’s an impressive number.”

“Impressive,” Lexa echoes.

“Yeah, the average is something in the low hundreds,” Tamsin replies. “Most people don’t survive long enough to see into the four digits. But I guess this means you’re in A block then.”

“A block?”

“Residents of Valhalla are sorted into blocks corresponding to their kill count. Blocks range from A to F, with different levels of security imposed on each block,” Tamsin explains. “Lucky you. You get the five star treatment.”

Reaping a reward for her past life’s ruthlessness. How ironic.

“Why the separation?” Lexa asks.

“Seriously?” Tamsin deadpans. “Dude just tried to kill you. He was obviously seeking some kind of revenge. The more people you’ve killed, the more dangerous it is for you to be here. This block system was drafted to protect people like you.”

“But you can’t die here. You said that,” Lexa points out.

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t the propensity to inflict pain,” Tamsin adds wryly. “You don’t think there’s a list of people just dying to get their hands on you?”

It makes Lexa pause, certainly. She hadn’t envisioned death to be quite as perilous as life on the ground, but at least this was familiar territory.

“Either way, let’s just get you to your block. I’ve got shit to do,” Tamsin says, and starts heading down the hall once again.

“What about you,” Lexa asks, walking faster to keep up with her brisk pace.

“What about me?”

“Which block are you in?”

“Darling, I’m not a resident,” Tamsin replies, smirking. “And I sure as hell don’t need the security.”

 

 

 

If Lexa’s warriors had known that death was this pleasant, they probably wouldn’t have been so reluctant to die. Her room is spacious, much more so than in the world of the living. In it are various electronic devices, many of which fit the description of what Clarke used to tell her. There’s an armory in the same block as her, and plenty of space to practice her skills with a sword should she feel the need. And any accommodation could be met if she requested it.

“Within reason,” Tamsin had warned her. “So don’t get crazy.”

Lexa asks for charcoal and canvas.

She learns, slowly but meticulously as she does with all things. She spends hours observing her subject, etching every last detail into her mind before even picking up the charcoal.

And sometimes, when she presses the soft tip of charcoal against the grainy texture of canvas, she can almost feeling Clarke’s hand ghosting over hers, guiding her every stroke.

Lexa frowns when the tip of the charcoal breaks, leaving an unwanted messy streak in the middle of her portrait.

“You really suck at this.”

It’s been long enough that Lexa doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. She likes to think of it as a lesson in maintaining her composure.

“What do you want Tamsin,” Lexa asks, only stopping to select another piece of charcoal.

“An art instructor for you. Your drawing sucks dick,” Tamsin quips, stepping to her side for a closer look.

“Surely you didn’t stop by only to comment on the quality of my artwork,” Lexa states.

“No I didn’t,” Tamsin says. “I need you to help me with something. ”

“For the last time, I am not helping you sneak out a crate of whiskey from the warehouse.”

“What? No,” Tamsin frowns, shaking her head. “That can wait. I need you to help me on my run today.”

“Run?”

“I guess I’ve never explained myself to you,” Tamsin considers for a moment before continuing. “I’m a Valkyrie. I collect the souls of warriors from the battlefield and bring them here.”

“Like you did with me,” Lexa states.

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t die on the battlefield,” Lexa points out quietly.

“Neither did I,” Tamsin replies, causing Lexa to stop drawing. “Look, it’s just a thing they say okay. A figure of speech if you will. Besides that’s not the point. All I need from you today is to help me collect a few souls. You think you can manage that?”

Lexa nods. “I can hold my own.”

“Great. Go get something from the armory. We leave in thirty,” Tamsin says.

“What about you? Where’s your weapon?” Lexa asks.

Tamsin breaks into a half laugh and taps the side of her temple. “Right here. I’m always equipped. Now stop wasting my time and go.”

Lexa doesn’t bother asking again and just shuts the door behind her. She barely hears Tamsin yelling after her.

“Get something sharp ‘cause I ain’t dragging your dead ass for a second time!”

 

 

 

“Why are weapons necessary to escort the dead?”

They arrive at some sort of gate, and Lexa watches Tamsin presses her hand against the metal bars. The gates open seconds after.

“Escorting can be a rough business. Not all of us are quite so thrilled about dying,” Tamsin shoots back, and slips through the gate. Lexa follows suit.

“I don’t even remember you bringing me here,” Lexa admits.

“Yeah well, my shoulder does,” Tamsin retorts, and sighs when she sees Lexa glaring at her. “When someone dies happily -- if there is such a thing -- they don’t wake up until they’re in Valhalla. For everyone else, well, they’re angry. That’s what that’s for.” She gestures to the sword that Lexa picked out earlier.

“So this is just in case,” Lexa clarifies.

“It’s more for your benefit. I can handle it on my own,” Tamsin waves her hand dismissively.

“Then why do you need me?”  

“I don’t,” Tamsin responds. “But my mentor decided I needed someone to _keep me in check_.” She scowls.

“And you chose me?”

“What’s with all the questions?” Tamsin snaps.

They travel the rest of the way in silence.

 

 

 

There are three souls on the list. The first two come willingly - slumped over their backs - and they drop them off at reception before heading out for the third. It’s strange, Lexa thinks. To know that there was hardly a divide between the living and the dead. No one could see them, Tamsin had told her. But it’s hard to believe when every one of her senses still functions as if she were alive. Lexa could still taste the grassy terrains every time she inhaled the air. She could feel the sunlight brushing against her skin.

She could also hear the cries of war before they arrived.

There are bodies dumped all over the ground. Some still breathing, she notes as they make their way through the field. The very imagery of death reminds Lexa of her past life, and makes her wonder about her people. What kind of commander was leading them now. Were the alliances still being kept. And what about the Sky people.

What about Clarke.

“What. Are. You. Doing,” Tamsin hisses at her, gesturing for her to catch up. “We haven’t got all day.”

What _is_ she doing. She’s standing in a field, surrounded by hundreds of bodies and all she can think of is Clarke. She spends the majority of her time now, trying to extract some vicarious pleasure by picking up the same hobby as Clarke. And when she closes her eyes at night, she tries to imagine Clarke lying next to her, and the heat of her body pressed against her back.

Lexa never had time like this before. She never had the time to mourn what she’d lost. Anya, who had trained her since she could first pick up a sword, raised her to be the leader her people deserved, and Gustus who would, and did, do anything and everything to protect her life. They died and she never even shed a tear. She could never allow herself that sort of selfishness on the ground when her people looked to her to lead.

Maybe this is what Clarke meant. _Maybe someday._ Maybe it’s now, when she no longer owes anything more to her people.

But as her heart makes room for all of that newfound selfishness, it crushes her. The weight of those 2469 deaths, the rage of the man who tries to kill her on her first day here, and the memory of Clarke’s smiling visage as she returns Lexa’s hopeful affections.

Somehow, Lexa finds it hard to breathe, even in this body that no longer requires air to live.

“Watch out!” Lexa hears and sees a spear headed her way. It’s probably too late to move out of the way. Maybe pain will move her out of the pathetic state she’s in. She shuts her eyes and readies herself.

But nothing connects. Something warm splashes on her face and when she wipes the back of her hand against her left cheek, she finds blood.

It’s not hers.

Tamsin’s standing in front of her, half a spear protruding out from her right shoulder. She grunts as she pulls it out in one swift motion.

“What a fucking drag,” she swears, giving Lexa a look that’s more part annoyance than anger. Then she launches the spear back the same direction it came.

Lexa hears a cry from the other end and Tamsin rushes towards the sound. She returns moments later, dragging a limp body around by the collar.

Tamsin doesn’t say a word and just walks past her.

Lexa follows.

 

 

 

They make it back and Lexa waits for Tamsin to open the gates. But instead she tosses the body to the side and drops to the floor, back against the gates.

Lexa copies her position, leaving just enough space between them so Tamsin couldn’t reach over and punch her since that seemed to be the kind of mood she was in.

“How’d you end up dead?” Tamsin breaks the silence, still staring blankly ahead.

“I got shot,” Lexa replies simply.

“Yeah?” Tamsin scoffs. “And how does getting shot make you happy. Enough to make a peaceful journey to Valhalla.”

“ _She_ did.” It slips out before Lexa even realizes it.

Tamsin’s looking at her now, but differently from before. Different from the first time they met and she saw Lexa as just another name on the list. Different from when she was interested by Lexa’s kill count, and different from when she thought her pathetic in the battlefield.

Lexa knows that look because she’s seen it on herself these days. When she bolts awake from her dreams and sees in the mirror that there’s no one beside her.

_To be commander is to be alone._

From that look alone, she imagines Tamsin isn’t too different from her.

“What’s her name,” Tamsin finally asks.

Lexa thinks about what to answer, if she should answer. “Does it matter? You said before, names don’t matter.”

Tamsin gives a rueful laugh. “You’re right. I did.” She slides herself off the floor and presses her palm against the gate as she did earlier. When she reaches for the body, Lexa intercepts her.

“Let me,” she offers and gestures to Tamsin’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to blame your shoulder on me for the rest of eternity.”

“Whatever.” Tamsin snorts and walks through the gate.

Lexa balances the body carefully over her shoulder. It’s surprisingly lighter than she expects.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t suddenly grow some muscle,” Tamsin remarks, almost reading her mind. “When a body reaches Valhalla, it immediately gets lighter since --”

“Why do you do this?” Lexa interrupts her.

“Do what?”

“This. Retrieving souls. This going back and forth between Valhalla and the real world.”

“Would you believe me if I said I did it to pick up hot babes?” Tamsin grinned at her, flexing her eyebrows suggestively.

“You could have just said you didn’t want to answer,” Lexa mutters, stepping aside to walk in front of her.

Lexa ignores Tamsin as she laughs the whole way back.

 

 


End file.
